The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star

He nodded again, although this time, he found that he couldn’t meet her eyes. “I’m sorry, Fannie. I mean, I’m really sorry. I didn’t know it was going to be like this, or I would never have—”

He stopped, surprised and shaken by the pain he felt. It was as if he was putting a knife into her and feeling it slice through his own belly. The only thing that kept the thrust from being fatal was his knowledge that he was doing the right thing, the only thing, although with all his heart he wished it didn’t have to be done.

He cleared his throat and tried again. “I shouldn’t have pursued you the way I did, Fannie. I’m to blame, especially since I knew all along that I couldn’t . . . that is—”

He fumbled for the words and couldn’t find them. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “Just . . . sorry.”

“So am I,” she murmured, and he thought she was. She sat silently for a moment, and he thought she must be weighing whether to leave the knife there or let him twist it one more time. He could see her holding her shoulders straight, hardening herself against the pain of another brutal thrust.

“I’m to understand that there was some sort of prior agreement between you and Miss Dare before you . . . before you and I started seeing one another.” It wasn’t a question.

He hesitated. “Agreement is too formal a word,” he said, hedging against the outright lie. “But I guess it’ll do. Yes. That’s what I’m saying.” He leaned forward, meeting her eyes, now speaking God’s truth and willing her to believe him.

“Look, Fannie. I have been a cad of the worst sort. You have every right to call me that in front of this whole town, to tell everybody what I’ve done. I hope you will. I want you to. I’ve treated you very badly and I’m sorry for it. But I would feel even sorrier if I let you go on thinking that there’s a chance that we could . . . That I—” He had rehearsed this part, too, but now he found that he couldn’t remember the words.

“That you could love me even a little,” Fannie said quietly, “when deep in your heart, all along, you have loved her instead. I suppose that’s it.”

“Something like that,” he said, tasting the lie and feeling an abysmal self-hatred for what he was doing to her, unable now even to comfort himself with the knowledge that this was the right thing, the noble thing to do. And then, into the silence, crawled the ugly little worm of uncertainty. What if it wasn’t the right thing to do? What if he had just broken something very beautiful and fragile, something not meant to be broken? What if—?

“Well, then.” Fannie picked up her napkin and began to fold it, neatly and precisely, lining up the corners so that they were absolutely square. “Well, then,” she repeated, her voice clipped and brisk, her shoulders still straight in her pretty blue dress. “I suppose we won’t be seeing one another again—not this way, anyway.”

“I guess that would be best,” he said gruffly. Actually, he hadn’t thought about what would happen between them after tonight, after he had said what he had to say to give her a reason to break it off. Now, having said it, he felt a sudden, surprising void—not a cliff, but a void—open up at his feet. It was wide and so deep he couldn’t see the bottom.

Still in that brisk voice, she asked, “Will you be going off . . . with her?” She put down the napkin, adding quickly, “Forgive me for asking, but I think I should know. People might ask, and I would like to have something to tell them.” She paused, waiting, and then said again, “Are you going off together?”

He hadn’t thought of this question either, and found himself stumbling through a ham-fisted improvisation. “Actually, no. I mean, that’s not . . . it isn’t likely to happen. At least, it won’t happen any time soon. Neither of us has the money. And I can’t just walk away from the newspaper. There are debts.” There weren’t, luckily, but it was the best he could do on short notice.

“But if you love her,” she pressed, “and she loves you—well, then, money shouldn’t be an issue. And if you can’t leave the newspaper, couldn’t she come here, to be with you?”

The thought of Lily Dare staying in Darling was so absurd that Charlie almost laughed out loud. “No,” he said. “She couldn’t. But I’ll be seeing her, of course—as often as we can manage it.” He managed to wrap a chuckle around his next lie. “Maybe she’ll fly in for a weekend every so often.”

“With that airplane, I suppose she gets around,” Fannie said.